When It Counts
by zemarha
Summary: "They were there for each other, always. They didn't know the details of each other's lives, but they knew the intricacies of the hardest parts. How Rory's hands would shake before she broke down. How Jess would bottle everything up, but talk when it was just them. The way her body felt when she sobbed against him. The set of his mouth when the tears finally leaked from his eyes."
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Hello, friends. This fic has been on my mind and in my soul for at least a few years now. I wanted to publish before the revival airs (because who knows where the canon will go now!), and it's finally ready to roll out, I think. Hope you like it. As always, reviews are magic! –Z 

* * *

She slipped her arms easily around his neck and felt his encircle her waist. The charcoal gray of his suit felt stiff; she wondered if he'd had to buy it new.

"I came as soon as I heard," she said, still holding him close. "I'm so sorry, Jess."

He nodded against her shoulder. Rock solid, as always; no shaking or sobbing. He wasn't one to fall apart.

She stood back and looked around the cemetery. Luke looked so serious, but strong, too. Those two Danes men; they had more in common than they would choose to admit.

The priest began his speech, speaking of Elizabeth Danes in a voice so formal it was clear he had never really known her. Rory stole a glance at Jess, but he was staring straight ahead. She slipped her hand into his and felt him squeeze it back almost imperceptibly.

She was here. Whatever it was or wasn't between them, she was here. And he wanted her to be. 

* * *

The wake was held at the diner. The whole town came together for it; for Liz; for Luke. Patti told stories of a young Lizzie dancing in her studio; knocking down the chorus line once with her incoordination. ("Two left feet, that one had," she said, "But never any lack of heart.")

Luke kept busy, refilling platters, pouring coffee. Lorelai helped where she could, staying close to him should he need her.

Rory was the only one who noticed when Jess slipped quietly behind the curtain. She debated whether she should give him space or follow him up; her latter instinct won out and she made her way up those familiar stairs.

He was sitting on the couch, an open book in his hands, but staring somewhere far off. He glanced up as she walked in.

She waited a moment, then asked simply, "What're you reading?"

He held up the book, _David Copperfield_. "Can't say I'm making much headway, though."

She smiled and sat next to him. She didn't ask how he was doing; didn't ask if he was okay. She just let them share space, hoping her presence would be enough, and leaned her head against his shoulder.

He sighed and began softly, "We were never close. She was an irresponsible wreck for most of my life." Her hand found his again, letting him know she was listening.

"I blamed her for a lot of things. Never really forgave her for most of it." His voice caught and he stopped for a moment.

"But she was really trying, you know? These last few years, with TJ, she really tried…" He trailed off. They spent the next few moments in silence, Jess remembering; Rory giving him space to.

"She knew, Jess. She loved you so much. She wouldn't want you to regret anything."

He sighed and closed his eyes. "Rory?"

"Yeah."

"Thanks for coming." 

* * *

It had become a sort of pattern for them. It had started out as an accident. No, not an accident; and certainly not a mistake. More of a coincidence. Unintended, but not unwelcome.

That first time, Lorelai had been in the hospital. Luke had spent every moment by her side, and Rory had flown home as soon as she could manage. She'd tried to stay strong, but her thoughts were frenetic with worry and irrational hypotheticals. It had taken days for the doctors to diagnose the cause of the pain and fatigue. Eventually, they'd told them that cancer was a very real possibility, but they wouldn't know for sure until after a full surgical excision. Her mother had tried to joke away the stress of the situation. ("The odds are 50/50! Like they said in that Seth Rogen movie, if this were blackjack, we'd be raking it in.") Rory had tried to smile through her tears, clasping her mother's hand tight. She had never been any good at hospitals; the IVs, the beeping monitors, the smell of antiseptic. Her mother, pale and weak and clearly hurting, lying helpless in a foreign hospital bed, didn't help. The lack of sleep didn't either.

Lorelai had sent her away at some point, knowing that she needed a break and pointing out that the surgery wasn't until tomorrow anyway. Luke would keep her company.

Rory passed the diner on her way home, and she was surprised to see it open. Curious, she parked and went in.

Jess was behind the counter, taking an order, and glanced up at the ring of the bell. Their eyes locked for a second. She hadn't seen him since Philadelphia, all those years ago. She took a breath and made her way to the counter.

"Hey," he greeted.

"Hey."

"Coffee?"

"Please. To go." She paused, then, "You're back?"

He nodded. "Luke called; asked if I could help Cesar keep the place open for the week. He told me about your mom."

She nodded, wrapping her hands around the warm cup he'd placed in front of her.

"How's she doing?"

Rory nodded again, keeping her eyes on her coffee. "Surgery's tomorrow."

Jess didn't miss the tightening around her eyes or the anxiety lacing her words. She looked worn down; exhausted.

"You going back tonight?"

"No. Mom told me to get some rest. Luke's staying."

He nodded. "We close at nine. I'll come by after."

He had offered before he'd even thought about it. For a second he hesitated, worried she wouldn't want him to. But her eyes held only gratitude as she looked at him and nodded, grabbing her coffee as she left. It was funny, their complicated past and all of the bad blood, none of it seemed to matter. She was scared. He was there.

They understood each other. They were connected. And something always compelled them to look out for each other. Over the years, they'd explain it to inquisitive coworkers and significant others (some more significant than others) as simply as, they were close friends. They had history. They were family, almost.

But they weren't really. "Best friends" was certainly a stretch; they didn't call or keep in touch in between times. It was just that, when things were hard and life left them feeling lost or overwhelmed, they knew they could count on each other. Most of the time, that was enough.


	2. Chapter 2

When she moved to New York, the "emergencies" became less urgent. Their unspoken, organic arrangement evolved into something no longer limited to deaths and major illnesses (though the cancer scare had turned out okay); it now expanded out to include smaller tragedies. They were still by no means traditional "friends"; they didn't "hang out", despite living in the same city. But they did see each other more. They knew few of the details of the other's daily life, yet they knew the intricacies of the intense, difficult moments. How she would start out strong but eventually break down. How he could no longer handle disappointing people, especially if it meant leaving a debt unpaid. How her hands would shake when she was on the verge of losing it. How he would bottle everything up when other people were around, but start talking when it was just the two of them. The way her body felt when she sobbed against him. The set of his mouth when the tears would finally leak from his eyes.

He'd only ever called her drunk once. It had made her heart hurt, hearing the raw vulnerability and desperation in his voice. She couldn't understand half of what he was saying, something about Truncheon being his home and always losing what he loved, interspersed with slurred lines of Beatnik poetry.

Trust Jess to spout Bukowski while completely sauced.

She'd coaxed the name of the bar out of him and was there in under twenty minutes. He had a few friends with him, people she didn't know, who looked equally dismal and equally drunk. Truncheon was closing, going belly up as so many others in the print publishing world had, and today had been the day the final decision was made.

He'd insisted she drink with them. She'd tried to refuse, but eventually she just sighed and gave in. Her car would be safe enough parked outside for the night; they could cab it back. If this was what he needed, she would do her best to provide it. She hated to see him like this, reckless and wild and hurt, such a marked change from his usual quiet, self-contained self. If her getting tipsy gave him something to hold onto, something to focus on, then she would do it.

She ended up a bit tipsier than she'd planned though, and the evening ended up less controlled than she would have liked. They found themselves dancing to bad bar music until last call, finding solace in the movement and the warmth of each other's body and the mindless beat.

It had been about forgetting. But in the taxi riding back to his apartment, he couldn't help but remember. He opened up, reminiscing about everything Truncheon had come to mean to him. He kept on telling her, so fervently, "It was my _home_ , Rory? Y'know? It was my _home_." He told her how it had come to represent his small measure of success in life; one of the few things he'd gotten right; the turning point at which he went from an insolent and angry boy to a more mature, grounded man. It was his pride, and he was losing it. "Just like I lose everything. Just like I lost you."

"Shh, Jess," she soothed, "We're here."

She tossed their fare to the driver and stumbled with him out of the car, adding quietly, "And you never lost me." 

* * *

They faded from each other's lives for the next month or two, as per usual, until one night her name flashed on his phone and just like that, he was completely awake. She didn't just call; that wasn't what they did. His heart was beating just a little bit faster as he picked up, only a ring and a half in.

"Hello?"

"Jess. It- it's Rory." The few words spoke volumes. She sounded tired, weak, confused. He felt a surge of concern- no, almost panic- flood him.

"What's wrong?"

"I- I don't feel good." Her breath hitched, like a flash of unexpected pain had stopped her, before she continued, "This is gross, but I can't stop puking."

His tensed muscles relaxed slightly, and he shook his head shortly. She was calling him for this? "You're drunk."

"No! I'm not. I- I really don't feel good. I'm lightheaded and everything hurts and I can't keep anything down. Look, I'm sorry to call, I just, my doctor called in a prescription, and there's no way I can get it myself, and Daniel's out of town, and my friends are all flakes who really don't even qualify for the title of 'friend' at all…" She trailed off, the obvious question unspoken.

He felt foolish, getting worked up and worried, even if briefly, over something like this. Maybe not drunk, though he wouldn't be surprised if she was just too embarrassed to tell him, but food poisoning certainly wasn't any better. He glanced at the clock. Already 12:15 AM. There was no way he'd be back in time to get a decent night's sleep, and his morning was slated to start at 6:00 AM sharp.

But she was Rory. And he was Jess.

"What pharmacy?" 

* * *

He knocked on her apartment door and found himself waiting just a moment or two longer than he should have. He was there, meds in hand, still slightly annoyed but cooling off after the train ride over.

She finally unlocked the door and told him to come in.

"Thanks for coming."

"Yeah." He might've handed her the bag and left right then, but she was already walking away, leaving him in the entryway with the door still wide open.

"Hang on," she called back to him, as she pulled the bathroom door shut behind her.

He counted his blessings for well-insulated walls, as he could just barely hear her retching, and that only if he listened hard. He walked toward the living room, putting a bit more distance between himself and the bathroom.

When she came back out, he was sitting on the sofa, jacket still on, bag set carelessly on the coffee table. He looked up and appraised her. She was wearing sweat pants and an old t-shirt; her skin was pale and she looked a bit unstable on her feet. She took a deep breath and sat next to him on the couch, pulling a blanket over herself as she did.

"Sorry. It's gross, I know… Thanks- thanks for coming." She sounded a bit faint, and some of Jess's earlier concern returned.

"Are you okay?"

She nodded her head, eyes closing as her breath hitched again, "My stomach just hurts. Probably from the vomiting. And I'm kind of freezing. God, it's so cold in here. Are you cold?"

She was definitely shivering, despite the normal temperature in the room. He reached out a hand to check her forehead.

"Rory, you're burning up. How long have you had a fever?"

"I don't- I don't know." Her eyes were still closed, and it looked like she was about to fall asleep. Or pass out. Jess wasn't sure which.

"Where's your thermometer?"

She didn't answer. Was she really asleep? He moved his hand back over her forehead, smoothing her hair in that universally comforting motion. His hand moved to rest on her cheek, cupping her face, trying gently to wake her up.

"Rory?"

She murmured but didn't open her eyes. He sighed and made his way to the bathroom, ready to rummage through her medicine cabinet.

Her temperature ended up being 103.2, high enough for Jess to be legitimately worried, his earlier annoyance and cynicism completely forgotten. He managed to get some Tylenol and the anti-nausea medicine in her, as well as a little bit of Gatorade. He was debating whether she was just dehydrated and had the stomach flu, or if it was something more serious.

"Rory." He tried to wake her once more.

"Hmm?"

"Rory, do we need to go the hospital? How bad is the pain?"

She sighed and opened her eyes. "Not that bad. I'm fine. Just sick."

"103.2 is not fine."

Her eyes were closing again. "Just need to rest."

His eyebrows were knit together and he was chewing his lip raw, unsure what to do. Let her rest, while her appendix might be bursting or God knows what; or take her in, maybe unnecessarily?

But she looked more or less peaceful, while she was sleeping at least, and she hadn't vomited again since he'd gotten there.

"Okay," he said letting out a breath and taking off his shoes, "If you puke again, or if your fever doesn't break, or if the pain gets worse, we're going to the ER."

The plan was more for him than for her. She was dead asleep. He took another deep breath, and prepared to stay for the night.

Morning came eventually, and Rory seemed okay. Not perfect, but not scary sick anymore either. Jess had been up every few hours to check on her. The fever had broken, she'd managed to drink a little more, and she actually did look better when she finally woke up. But it was 5:00 AM and he needed to go.

"You gonna be okay?" He asked, after he'd splashed some water on his face and tried to smooth his wrinkled clothes.

"Yeah. I actually feel a lot better. Thanks, Jess. For taking care of me." She paused, then looked down, refusing to meet his eyes, "I probably shouldn't have called you for this, or asked you to spend the night."

"Rory." He waited until she looked up at him, "I'm glad you called. And you didn't ask. I just did it anyway."

He looked at her intently for a moment, then bent down to her, still on the couch, and kissed her forehead.

"Get some rest, okay?" he whispered as he left.


	3. Chapter 3

She groped for her phone blindly in the pitch-black hotel room, fumbling to answer the call, then promptly dropped the stupid thing.

"Rory?"

Cursing under her breath she finally found the offending object, picking it up with a mix of grumbled expletives and a "Yes, hello."

"It- it's Jess. Are you okay?"

Settling back into the pillows she laughed silently. He was the one calling her at two in the morning, and he was asking her if _she_ was okay?

"I'm fine, Jess. What's going on?"

"Did I wake you up?"

Avoiding questions. But again, he had called her, so she knew it must be something serious. Turning on the bedside lamp and forcing herself to wake up, she replied, "It's okay. You wouldn't have known; I'm in London, on assignment."

"God, I'm sorry. Listen, forget I called. Go back to sleep."

"Jess. It's okay, really. I'm up." She wanted to ask him what was going on again, but sensed his unease and knew she needed to skirt around it if she was going to be any help. "You're in New York?"

"Yeah. It's not even ten o'clock here."

"Pesky thing, those times zones. How've you been?"

It was small talk, and it was stamped with inanity; he knew that, and knew he was wasting her time but couldn't seem to come out and just say what was upsetting him. Just like always; the verbal thing still coming and going. He closed his eyes and shook his head. Wasn't he better than that by now?

"Been okay."

"Yeah, me too." She was searching for more to say, but coming up blank. Silly sleep-deprived brain. Oh well, when all else fails… "Jess?"

"Yeah?"

"What's going on?"

He was silent for a moment, then finally got around to it. "He called."

Rory waited, giving him space.

"It's been six, seven years since we last saw each other or spoke, and that was because I followed him out to California, and out of nowhere, he calls."

"Jimmy," she said softly. Not a question. She knew this story, had seen how it had undone him in the past.

"It's stupid. I don't need him in my life. I don't need him checking up on me or his questions about my mom- he didn't even know she died, did you know that? His feigned interested in his forgotten son, a fucking five minute conversation, if that, before he gets around to it and asks me for money."

"Oh Jess."

"I shouldn't need anything from him. I shouldn't need his approval or his pride or his validation. I've been living for myself for a long time now, but I just couldn't help thinking… Liz is gone. This man is all I have left. My fucked up life and my fucked up father. This is all I have left."

He paused, then let out a short, painful laugh. "I'm rambling. He just gets under my skin, that's all. It's stupid."

"It's not stupid. It gets to you. It gets to me, too, and Christopher's not half bad, as far as father figures go. But he triggers me the exact same way, making me question my self-worth, making me hate him. Making me hate myself. But it's not real, Jess. It's a not a true reflection of me, and this isn't a true reflection of you."

"Yeah. Maybe." He stopped, taking a second to collect himself. "So why do I let him do this to me?"

"I don't know, Jess. Maybe it's inevitable. Part of being human; part of some inescapable vulnerability. But there's a third choice, you know."

"A third choice?"

"It's not just, he's all you have left or you're all you have left. You have me. You have Luke. We're not going anywhere."

He was left feeling raw and painfully exposed, but calmer, too. No longer in a tailspin, just- sad. Weighed down but not lost. That was something.

"I should let you go," he breathed.

"Okay. You're okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay."

"Okay." Her heart was still aching for him, and she didn't feel right letting him go just yet.

"Jess?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm here. Just, don't forget that, okay? I'm here."

* * *

It was a few months later when he saw her name flash on the caller ID again. It was late but not that late, maybe 11, but his heart still started and he felt that familiar surge of panic, that uncontrollable twist in his gut, as he worried about the worst.

"Rory?"

"Hey, Jess. Sorry to be calling, I know it's kind of late."

His heart slowed down a little bit, just knowing that she sounded all right. "Is everything okay?"

"Um, yeah. I think so. Probably. I guess? I'm actually not sure, and Daniel's traveling for work again-"

Ah, Daniel. The ever-absent boyfriend.

"-and I didn't know what to do, so…"

So she called him. He was strangely pleased by that, and maybe also a little irritated that he was pleased. Mostly just still worried.

She'd gotten off work late, and taken her usual train home. As soon as she stepped on, she was aware of the man on the other end- that feeling of unease, of needing to be careful and cautious of whatever might happen next. Her level of alarm had risen when he'd gotten off at the same stop as she did; even more so when he followed her in the same direction down the street. She usually loved living in her quiet residential neighborhood, but tonight it just felt isolated, not peaceful. She'd managed to find the pepper spray in her bag without looking and without slowing down, and as she approached her building, she'd turned around and looked the man in the face, pulling the small aerosol spray out and telling him to get away from her, now. She'd read somewhere that looking a potential assailant in the face and speaking loudly and firmly was the smartest way to handle the situation; that they were usually looking for easy targets and you just had to show them you weren't worth the hassle. That sudden knowledge had come flooding back to her as her adrenaline kicked into overdrive.

It seemed to work. The man measured the situation for a split second, then turned and ran, and Rory took the opportunity to get into her building, using her key fob to get quickly past the security door. She had her phone out, ready to call 911, as she waited for the elevator for what seemed like forever. She was watching through the glass, and there was no sign of the man, but her heart was still racing and her breath was still rapid. She jumped as the elevator dinged, and got up to her unit as quickly as possible.

"I mean, I'm inside now with the deadbolt locked, and I know there's no reason he would know my apartment number, even if he did decide to come back and then managed to get in the building, but," she stopped, sounding understandably shaken, "I'm still scared."

"Did you call the police?"

"No. I mean, he was gone by the time I got inside and got my phone out. I don't know what they would do anyway; it was dark, I barely got a good look at him… I'm sorry, I just- I needed to talk to someone, to not feel like I was alone for a few minutes. I think I'm okay now. I just need to calm down."

He wasn't sure what the protocol was; if that was the kind of thing that should be reported or not. He didn't know if he should push her to call the police or if it was okay to leave it. He did know he wouldn't be able to sleep thinking about even the possibility of her not being safe, even if the risk was low. He was already grabbing his keys and jacket as he said, "Stay on the phone. I'm coming over."

"Jess, I swear, that's not why I called; I'm okay, really."

"Look, I'm already out the door. I'll be there in 15."

She really hadn't intended to make him come over, but she still felt relieved that he was anyway. "Okay. Thanks, Jess. I… I hate feeling this powerless; this helpless," she admitted; "I feel like I should be able to take care of myself."

"No one's powerful all the time, Rory. No one's immune to that. That's why you have people in your corner, people looking out for you." He hesitated for a second, then continued, "That's why you have me."


	4. Chapter 4

She checked the address on the card once again against the street address in front of her. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't nervous. He'd invited her, sure, but this wasn't what they usually did; this veered off course from their usual interactions. A celebration, for once, instead of a crisis. Planned and premeditated, instead of sought out desperately in moments of need.

She'd considered not coming. Leaving this part of his personal life to his personal life. They had a connection that was intense, honest, and real, and she never doubted for a second how much he meant to her, and how much she knew she meant to him. But theirs wasn't a normal relationship. It was a singularity.

Still, she'd been there for his first book release, and she'd decided she'd be damned if she missed his second.

She smoothed out her skirt and made her way inside.

The layout was similar to Truncheon, but had a bit more of an industrial feel. The turnout seemed good, and she immediately scanned the room for Jess. Her plan was to make sure to find him at some point in the evening, and lose herself in books (it was a publishing house, after all) or easy small-talk for the rest of the night. Not seeing him right away, but spotting a bench by a bookshelf in the corner, she made her way over.

At some point in the evening he found her. True to form, she'd lost track of her whereabouts while lost in prose. His new release was engaging but never over-simplified, having the unique qualities of being honestly interesting while still provoking and challenging.

"Up to your usual standards?" he asked.

At the sound of his voice, her focus pulled back into the real world. She looked up at him and told him, almost reprimanding, "Jess. This is amazing."

He smiled at her, amused. "Glad you like it, I think. It's really not much, but I can't say I'm not excited to see it picked up."

"It's so much more than 'not much' and you know it. I'm expecting you to sign it later, and don't even think about refusing."

He shook his head but didn't stop smiling, flattered and proud in that self-deprecating way that came so naturally to him. "Come up front, I want to introduce you to a few people."

True to her word, by the end of the night she really had made him sign her copy. The party was beginning to wind down, and she turned to him seriously before she made her own exit.

"I know it's cliché, but I have to say it: I'm really proud of you, Jess. I know Truncheon closing was hard on you, but this is just more proof of how talented you are. Getting published again by the same company is hard enough; finding someone new to take you on is ten times harder. I'm really happy for you." She said the words genuinely, and while he had to try hard not to squirm under the praise, he didn't doubt her sincerity for a second.

"Thanks, Rory. It means a lot to me that you came." He reached out to touch her arm and in the process noticed the new ring adorning her hand. He wasn't sure how he'd missed it before.

He nodded at her left hand and said, "You got some news of your own to share?"

She seemed confused for a second, then sheepish. "Oh. Um, yeah. You remember Daniel, my boyfriend? He proposed." Despite her hesitant smile, her eyes lit up when she said it.

Wow. "You're engaged." He was not expecting that tonight.

"Yes. Yes, I am." She couldn't help but grin when she answered, beaming outright. "I'm excited, Jess. I think this is really right for me, finally."

He didn't voice the questions that came to his mind: Wasn't it awfully fast? Was she sure about it being "right"? What exactly made her think that? And how could she be sure, considering this boyfriend never seemed to actually be around when she needed him? Instead he managed to smile back at her and offer his congratulations. He had no right to expect her to share the good things in her life; no right to ask her to explain her choices. He was the one who'd reached out to her tonight, deciding to share something important to him. Yes, she'd come, but that didn't mean she was under any obligation to do the same; to include him in any more than just the hard parts of her own life. He knew his uncensored opinions had no place here. Besides, she truly seemed happy. Maybe it was him; maybe there were other reasons for his mixed reaction. Reasons and feelings he could excavate and analyze later. Reasons he hoped didn't look like jealousy.

For now though, he just gave her a hug and wished her the best. Tonight, they both had good things going for them in their lives and no big tragedies to weigh them down. For the moment at least, life, ostensibly, was cooperating. There was no sense in over-complicating it. 

* * *

A/N: Aaand, we're back! This chapter is woefully short, but doesn't quite work with being combined with the next, so I'm just putting it up and putting it out there. Eventually, I'll be reformatting this whole fic to flow better, fingers crossed. For now, you just get two chapters for the price of one. ;) As always, please read & review! -Z


	5. Chapter 5

Not for the first time, he asked himself what he was doing there. The venue was too fancy, the food was sophisticated and overrated, the people were schmoozy and fake, and the one person he was actually there for was too busy being celebrated at her own engagement party to really much notice or care if he was there at all.

Okay, that was a little harsh. Rory had greeted him warmly when he'd arrived, and even Daniel had seemed genuine enough, though a bit stiff in his formal suit, when thanking him for coming. Jess was never one to lie to himself, and he suspected a lot of his irritation had more to do with his unresolved feelings of anger when he thought about the whole affair, than anything else. He hadn't been able to unpack that, those feelings of negativity toward Rory's engagement, but he was at least doing his best to bury them. He figured if he made it through hors d'oeuvres before ducking out, he could consider it a success.

Rory, for her part, looked beautiful in her role of radiant bride-to-be. Her soft chiffon dress swirled out around her below the cinched waist, and she was the perfect blend of sweet and sophisticated. Her color was high and her eyes were bright as she made her way around the room, accepting well wishes and laughing with family and friends.

For Jess, the evening dragged on as he stubbornly refused to make small talk with any of the other guests. Aside from sitting in his seat stoically and being generally disagreeable, Jess would find himself scanning the room for Rory every few minutes, against his better judgment. For better or for worse, he was drawn to her.

He'd surprised himself by making it to the sit-down dinner portion of the evening, and he was halfway through the duck confit when he noticed the tension in her shoulders and the anxiety around her eyes. He'd seen her panic before, and though she was doing a good job avoiding a scene, he recognized her distress a mile away; he'd had plenty of practice. No one else seemed to notice the urgent exchange between Daniel and her, until Daniel's voice began to rise. Jess thought he caught Rory's eyes widening before she ushered them both through a side door into the kitchen. Jess scanned the room and his eyes met Lorelai's. She looked alarmed too, but shrugged slightly, conveying a sense of "I don't know, let's give them a minute?" wordlessly across the hall.

Jess gave them twelve, before he made his way across the room, worried. His gut was telling him something was seriously wrong.

He didn't see her at first when he opened the door. She was sitting on the floor against the far wall, knees drawn up to her chest, staring blankly ahead. She didn't look up as he approached her.

"Hey, Ror, you okay?" he asked softly, crouching down in front of her.

She finally looked up, dazed. It took her a minute before she spoke, "He's gone."

Jess tried to keep his concern for her off his face; even with their shared history, he'd never seen her look like this before, so completely lost and uncertain. He touched her arm gently and nodded slightly. "You wanna tell me what happened?"

"He left. He just-," she laughed shortly, "-just said he couldn't handle it, the pressure, the socialites, my grandparents…" She finally really looked at Jess for the first time, and as if feeling the need to defend herself, went on, "We'd talked about this. He said it was fine, said he was okay with it, that it was no big deal… Until it was, I guess."

Her hands were starting to shake, and Jess took them into his own. "Okay. Rory, it's okay. When is he coming back?"

Her face crumpled and she shrugged. "I don't think he is." Her voice was small as she continued, "He said he had to get out of here and I told him he couldn't just leave, but he was already halfway out the door; he said he was sorry and I told him if he left then that was it; that I couldn't forgive that." She was crying now, tears running down her face; "And he walked out. God, all those people… what am I going to tell everyone? I can't go back out there, Jess, I can't-"

"Hey, hey. It's okay. It's okay," he said as he slid down next to her against the wall and gathered her into his arms. "It's going to be okay. We'll figure this out. We always do; it's okay."

She crumpled into him and he held her through her shaky tears, hurt and humiliation and hopelessness pouring out of her.

"You'd tell me, right?" she asked after a moment. "If there was… if there was something wrong with me?"

"Rory."

"Some reason that I'm not worth… staying for? I was never enough to make my father stay; Logan didn't want me enough to wait for me; you moved across the country; and now, Daniel."

"Hey. Daniel's an idiot who has no idea what he's losing. He was never worthy of you, Rory; he never came close to deserving you. You are not flawed. You're- you are rare and beautiful and brilliant and it kills me to see you question that."

"I don't know, Jess. At some point you have to stop blaming everyone else and start looking at yourself, right? And I can't- I can't keep doing this. If I just know then I can stop trying. It hurts too much, Jess. It hurts too much. I can't do it again."

"Hey." He cupped her cheek in his hand and waited until her eyes met his, "You will find it, Rory. You are worth so much more than this. I promise you, you will find it."

Her eyes slid shut as she leaned into his hand. He kissed the top of her head as he said, "And I came back, didn't I? I'm here, Rory. I'm right here."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: This is the final chapter, friends. Hope it feels right. As always, please R&R! Because some days I believe in that magic, but others I wonder if I've got any at all... Your words mean more than you know. I'll be thinking of you all on November 25th- see you on the other side of the redux. Love, Z

* * *

She had picked up the pieces. She had let Jess and Lorelai handle that terrifying room filled with all the People of Her Life, in capitals, and she'd dealt with disappointing her grandparents, again, and managed to square her shoulders and face the world and move forward with her life, again. It was painful, and there were nights when those feelings of self-doubt and self-blame crept quietly into her apartment, filling the corners of her living room and the corners of her consciousness until they pulled her under completely; nights where she slowly drowned in that feeling that she'd failed. But the sharp edges of those endless nights eventually blurred into the gentle white light of new mornings, and she'd make herself a cup of coffee and work on gluing herself back together again. Somewhere deep down, that steely Gilmore resolve was still intact within her. Her strength might ebb and flow but she was her mother's daughter, stubborn and determined as ever, and she let herself be forged by that fire.

Jess checked in. He called; he texted. There was always some pretense; some reason for the contact, but he was checking up on her, plain and simple. He knew he was, and she knew he was. She wasn't sure if he knew she knew he was… But he knew her, and he knew she wasn't obtuse. She guessed he must've thought it was worth it anyway. That she was worth it. That helping her see that someone, at least, believed she was worth staying for, was worth it.

There was the "emergency" at Truncheon that he'd needed her help with. The phone calls asking for advice on how to handle some issue with Matt, or asking if she had talked to Lorelai because he was worried about Luke, or the time he'd just dropped by her apartment, saying he didn't want to be alone that night.

That one she wasn't sure was made up though. He'd seemed just quiet enough and his eyes just haunted enough when he showed up on her doorstep, that she thought he really had needed her right then. They were sitting on her couch, halfway through a bottle of whiskey (top-shelf, a gift from her grandfather of all people, that had gone untouched for many, many months), before she realized with a start that it was the anniversary of Liz's death.

"It was this time last year, wasn't it?" she asked, realization sinking in.

He suddenly wouldn't meet her eyes, finding the ice in his glass unduly fascinating. She wasn't sure he was going to reply at all, and when he finally did, his voice was thick. "To the day."

Still looking down, he continued, "I was on the bus when Luke called me. I never pick up when I'm on the bus; I hate people who talk on their phones like they fucking own the place, but I picked up. That day, I picked up. Luke talked. I listened. I hung up and I swear I still can't figure out what happened the rest of that afternoon. I looked up and it was dark out and the driver was telling me we were at the end of the line. I got out and just started walking. I must've walked for hours. I remember feeling- suspended. Like all the meaning and purpose and sense in the city had just been drained out. The stopper finally pulled; all color bleached and blanched, bled out into some invisible, unreachable space. That morning, I'd been so sure I'd understood, that I had a handle on who I was and what that meant and how this fucking world was put together, until I wasn't. All that certainty, it just, turned off. And I was just left knowing that I'd misread it. I'd fucking misread all of it." He finally looked up at her and that haunted look was back again, so vulnerable and young and heartbreakingly lost.

"Jess," Rory breathed as she slid closer to him on the couch, needing to touch him.

"I didn't think today would be so hard. It didn't sneak up on me- I've been thinking about it all month, but I swear I felt fine. I felt like I had my head on straight again and it was making sense and I was focused, but somewhere between yesterday and today… I can feel her in my bones, Rory. I can feel her and I want her fucking gone but I'm so scared of what'll happen when she finally leaves."

His shoulders were shaking and he was panicking, anxious and desperate. Rory recognized that some of that slightly unhinged rambling came from too much alcohol but she also knew just as much of it came from too much sorrow, bottled up and stored away month after month, season after season. She knew what was in his bones: grief, tightly wound; stubbornly refused the right to unfold. The specter of loss. Haunted, indeed.

She pulled him close, snaking one hand around his torso and letting her other find the hair at the nape of his neck. She kissed his temple and whispered in his ear, "It's okay, Jess. It's okay."

She let his tears leak onto her shoulder, and he let her warmth, her solidity, envelope him. He wasn't sure he believed in forgiveness and he definitely didn't believe in divinity, but he was sure of his gratitude to whomever or whatever for granting him her, and he felt an unwitting plea slip silently out of him for absolution; for acceptance; for the strength to be better.

He finally pulled back and his eyes found hers in what felt like sacred space, a different type of time suspended. "You remember when you found me, at the cemetery? And you took my hand?" She nodded, almost imperceptibly, afraid to break the spell. "The spinning finally stopped when you did that. I don't know why and I know I don't have a right to fucking need that from you, but you were my anchor, Rory. You're my anchor."

She cradled his head in her hands and felt the sting of tears in her own eyes at his confession. "I'm here, Jess. I will always be here."

Words had never felt so inadequate to her. She was overwhelmed by the need for him to truly believe her, to believe he deserved to be wanted and needed but also every bit as much, he deserved to want and to need. That he could deserve her.

She closed the distance between them and placed her lips gently against his, angling up and against him, allowing everything she felt for him and wanted for him to build and find release in that moment. He kissed her back, all his tension and pain transforming into passionate, overpowering energy.

She ended up horizontal beneath him on the couch, meeting him touch for touch, back arching into him as his mouth found her neck, raising her hips up to counter his.

She knew they would never have been so bold if they hadn't been drinking, but also knew with every fiber of her being that this was right. They had weathered so much, waited so long, and endlessly endured the agony of denying themselves each other… It was no wonder they were combusting, catching fire, exploding, at that first touch of lips against lips. They belonged to each other. For better or for worse. They'd already done in sickness and in health; through thick and thin. She hoped to god they were ready to love and to cherish. Forever and ever, amen.

She was getting lost in the feeling of his body against hers and she knew if they didn't stop now, they wouldn't stop at all. Rory was sure, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that this was inevitable and undeniable, but she also knew she didn't want to waste the sanctity of their first time on a hazy, clouded night, when all of the details would come away smudged and blurred. She could imagine the feeling of sublime culmination- _oh_ , of all-consuming consummation- as he finally entered her and how momentous and long-awaited and _right_ that would feel, and she planned to hang on to that moment until death truly did do them part. She'd been waiting for it, consciously or unconsciously, since she was seventeen. She could wait just a little bit longer.

"Jess," she breathed. He brought his head back up level with hers, and she kissed him again, gentler than before, slowing their pace.

He let her, sensing her intention, and leaned his forehead against her. He asked quietly, "You wanna stop?"

She looked straight at him and he saw her eyes darken as she bit her lip. "No," she said and she kissed him again, not-so-gently, with the full force of her unresolved desire, "I don't _want_ to stop." Any degree of coolness they'd briefly managed was quickly lost, but Rory attempted to regain her resolve once again, placing her hand against his chest, "But I think we have to."

Smiling for the first time all night, one of those rare, genuine, full-on, beautifully crooked smiles, Jess shook his head and whispered, "Come here," as he closed the distance between their lips one last time.

When their heartbeats had finally slowed and their breathing eventually evened, Jess spoke again, "I should probably…"

"Go?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." She paused, then said, "You don't… you don't have to."

"I don't?"

"No. You could… just…" she trailed off, suddenly hesitant to say the words; but he knew.

"Okay."

"Okay." She said, smiling, as her cheek found his chest again; arms wrapped securely around him, and his around her.

"And you're mine too, y'know," she murmured against his chest, words getting heavier as sleep started to claim her.

"Your what?" he asked, momentarily confused.

"My anchor, Jess. You're mine, too."


End file.
